


Brutal Family

by Fallencellist



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Brutal Project, Brutal Pyro, Brutal Sniper, Brutal Soldier, Brutal Spy, different take on Brutals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallencellist/pseuds/Fallencellist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Brutal Project was a project created by Mann Co in order to make a team of mercenaries to take care of those who speak too much about what goes on Mann Co. Those who spoke too much would be visited by these mercenaries, and given a very convincing reason not to step out of line. Years later after the project is scrapped, the old Brutal Leader thought all four of the others were dead after killing them himself, and thought he could return to his old duties as a member of BLU, until the four start showing their faces again. Were they really dead after all, and what could they be hanging around for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brutal Family

Every limb in his body felt numb, ebbing away the aching in his flesh. The small man didn’t know how long he had been laying on the cold hard table, he just knew it had been a long time. For a few hours after he woke up he was alone, his frail body shaking with a fearful anticipation of what would happen.  


Here he was, strapped to a table in Bonk knows where, unable to think straight, unable to get the hell out of there and run like his life depended on it, and the gut feeling he had told him that his life did depend on it.  


What even brought him here?  


One second he was on the battlefield of Dustbowl, working on defending the last point, although not even the first point had been capped by the attacking team. Scattergun at the ready and a can of Bonk in his satchel, he stood on the red glow, his eyes darting back and forth looking for a blur of BLU.What he didn’t expect, was a dark clothed man coming up behind him. The next moment, he felt something sharp at the base of his neck, then waking up from the blackness in the small room he found himself in at the very moment.  


The room he woke up in was plain, the gray walls textured like painted concrete, small specks of crimson splatters strewn across its surface. Not a single window littered the walls and a single steel door was the only way in or out. The air was stale and stank of something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but smelled an awful lot like the battlefield when the clean up crew forgot to remove the bodies and giblets from the last battle, and a slight hint of wet cardboard, most likely coming from the various boxes stacked in the corners of the room. His eyes wandered over to the boxes, seeing the various sizes and shapes of their form, but unable to see what contents they held. Some of the boxes were smaller, about the size of his torso, why others were almost large enough to hold a whole Heavy body. A large trunk resided in the corner that gave the poor man the willies. Something about it just sent a bone-chilling rush down his spine, causing him to turn away from it, returning his gaze to the ceiling.  


Hours had passed before two men entered the room, both looking like two of his teammates: The Demoman and the Soldier--the only difference being the look in their eyes. It was pure bloodlust, brutal bloodlust.  


The Soldier was a lot like his RED counterpart, the army helment still covering his eyes, but unlike the Soldier he knew, there was a black bandana covering everything below the bridge of his nose and below his cheekbones, three large scars across the left side of his cheek. The stitches down the middle made the whole thing look like it was sparsely put together by somebody who didn’t know how to sew very well. Across his chest and wrapped around his waist was a decorative sash, the black interior accented by a bright crimson red, but instead of the normal symbols the little man was used to, there was a crimson red hazard symbol. The man scanned the Soldier and noticed on his left arm was a shoulder guard or sode and a kote, or forearm guard, as well as a tekko, a small brown plate that covered the back of his hand, that same hazard symbol on it. Each plate was lined with the bright red, the body a dark slightly red tinted black. The jacket he wore was similar to the other Soldiers, but a black instead of the normal red or blue he was used to.  


His Demonman companion wasn’t as decorated as the Soldier. The vest he donned was the same as the usual Demoman uniform, but instead of the pants this Demoman wore a traditional kilt, the same dark red tinted black that colored his top. Topped on his head was a golden trimmed black bicorne, the classic skull and crossbones replaced with that same hazard symbol with three crimson red feathers pinned to the back.  


When the two approached the bound boy the Soldier let out a chuckle, gripping the small chin in his hand, “Look who finally woke up!” His voice was much lower than the one he had to always listen to back at the RED base, barking out orders before, during and after battles. Instead of the distinct lack of intelligence the RED Soldier had in his voice, this Soldier’s voice brimmed with it, as well as a dark exterior to the flow, “About time.” He scoffed, letting go of the Scout’s chin, “I thought sedatives would go through you a lot quicker, with your fast metabolism and all,” He glanced towards the Demoman, who responded with a hardy chuckle, “Guess not lad.” He had to force himself not to let out a sigh or even a laugh at the two: morons mustn't have been watching him otherwise they would have known it wore off hours ago.  


It wasn’t much fun for the man to sit in a cold room on a hard table strapped down like a experiment the Medic was just waiting for the right moment to swoop in with his dagger sharp scalpels and proceed to poke and prod him in places he didn’t want to know. He had nothing better to do than to wait for somebody to come in, hopefully being able to taunt them into releasing him. Probably not the outcome that was going to happen for him.  


Almost as if they knew he was trying not to laugh at them, the Soldier got a sneer to his lips, grabbing the tiny neck in his large hands, “And what’s so funny maggot?” The small RED man let out a gurgle as the hand nearly engulfed his neck, unable to respond to the demanded question. Instead he just bore dagger glares into the other, Soldier’s sneer turning into a grin of sick twisted intentions. As a low chuckle escaped from the Soldier he released the small neck from his iron grip, leaving the other gagging for air that was previously unable to enter his lungs, the Soldier turning towards a small medical-like table that held various sharp instruments, turning back over to the man strapped to the table with a sick grin. In his hand was a small but sharp torturing instrument, most likely a dagger or knife with a jagged edge used to hack and tear at the flesh.  


The next hours were a blur to the Scout, the pain deluding his memories, his mind trying to block out all the sick, twisted acts they did to his frail body. Though, thank the makers of Bonk, he wasn’t ever stripped of his pride and dignity by the two, they just tore at his skin, raking various sharp objects across his face and arms, keeping a poorly made makeshift Medigun on his body to make sure the little man didn’t die. One by one the two took turns stabbing at the Scout, each scream getting louder and longer, until his throat was starting to get sore his voice turning hoarse.  


“Oh great,” The Soldier huffed out in annoyance when the Scout barely made a grunt as he reached into one of the many large gaping holes in the RED’s arm, feeling around for the bone, “Looks like he’s going to pass out.” A groan came from the Demoman, throwing the large blade he had been holding onto the ground in a burst of anger and disappointment, “Ack, that’s a bloody mockery, that is!” His compatriate removed his fingers from the open arm and picked up the long sword that was sheathed on his belt.  


“We haven’t even gotten started,” The Solder chuckled, undoing the restraints around the Scout’s torso and arms just for a bit of kicks and to see if the Scout was still conscious to his surroundings, letting the poor kid sit up, “Looks like he’s not fully unconscious, yet.” The two chuckled, The Soldier gently running his fingers up and down the long sword he gripped, blood smearing on the smooth surface, “Perhaps we can continue playing then.”  


Scout had to stop himself from bursting out into a high pitched, ear bursting laughter when his mind began to work on the fact his arms and torso were free. He reached up to his chest, tenderly touching his bare skin, wincing at the stinging left behind from his finger’s touch. ‘Crap’ he frowned glancing around his surroundings, looking for something he could use to his advantage. As if a savior, his eyes fell onto his last can of Bonk. ‘Yes! Thank you makers of Bonk!’ Reaching forward he grabbed the yellow colored can, gripping it in his less hole-filled hands, the other one working on releasing his legs from the restraints.  


Once free, the Scout snuck to the door on the other side of the room, opening it silently then bolted out of there, breaking open the seal of the can. ‘Time to get the hell out of here’ he grinned, chugging down the near radioactive liquid, feeling a burst of energy flow through his veins, increasing his speed as he sprinted down each hallway, trying to get farther and farther away from the two men.  


For what seemed like a single second they turned their backs to the RED, placing the weapons onto a table, then turned back around, finding the air empty where the Scout once was, “How the?!” Demoman blinked his single eye, widening it in surprise, “How the bloody hell did he get loose?”  


Together the two men searched the room, looking in every nook and cranny for the ankle bitter. They searched every corner of the room, checking the boxes that contained various weapons, and some that held bones of poor souls that they had captured, some boxes growing mold from the blood that was never cleaned from their surface.  


The search came to an end with no avail, making Soldier growl, throwing one of the boxes he had searched in to the floor, the knives clanging together as they spewed from the box onto the floor, “Damn it!” He glanced to Demonman, instead of the brutal curl of his lips, a frown was plastered on his face, fear and worry glittering in his eyes, “He’s going to kill us.”  


“If we’re lucky.” Demoman wore a same frown, pulling at the collar of his shirt, the two of them cringing at the thought if their boss found out they had lost the spastic man, “Maybe we can find ‘em before he does.”  


“We can at least try,” Soldier nodded, picking up the shotgun on the shorter table next to him. Demoman picked up his grenade launcher, resting it on his shoulder, “Better move quick. He’ll be bound to find ‘em pretty quick.” They both knew, their boss was adept at finding people, it was his job, and they had little hope to find the spastic RED before he did.  


Running out of the room the Soldier and Demoman split ways, Demo going right and Soldier going left. A few steps of being split up, Soldier’s heavy foot crunched down on an aluminum can, bringing his attention to his feet, “What?” Leaning down he picked up the crushed slab of metal, examining it. Across the front of the crunched can was a word he could recognize ‘Bonk,’ “Great, he’s got this crap in his system,” He threw the can onto the ground, picking up his rocket launcher again, “He can’t be far off the little prick.” Huffing out the Soldier continued on through each hallway following the invisible trail of the spaz.  


The heavy footsteps thundered through the halls as Soldier tried to pick up his pace to a run, huffing out as he lugged his Rocket Launcher along with him, “Come out Maggot,” he growled to himself, rearing a corner in time to see a bullet of red run down the corridor adjacent to the one he was standing at, “There you are!” He hissed, running towards the direction the blur fled to, turning the corner quickly, sending off a few rockets, barreling down the hallways a few paces behind his rockets.  


A high yelp came from the Scout when he glanced behind his shoulder, the three rockets and the Soldier coming right for him, “Ah crap!” Quickly the RED jumped up, kicking into the wall to ricochet himself up higher into the air, flipping over the rockets as they whizzed by, landing right onto the Soldier’s helmet-covered head, then kicking off behind him. Landing with a light thump he regained his footing and shot off in the direction he had previously came from. The wall across the room lit up from the impact of the rockets, bits of its surface flying through the air. When the smoke had cleared three large burn marks were left, along with a disgruntled Soldier and not a Scout in sight, “Damn it! Little shit I will choke you with your own intestines!”  


“Haha,” The Scout grinned as he turned a corner hearing the Soldier yell something quite insulting, getting back up onto his heavy feet, “Loser.” Rearing another corner he held an arm out, grabbing onto the side of the wall, easily slipping him in a 45 degree angle around the corner keeping his momentum going, zooming past what seemed like an endless amount of doorways and empty halls.  


‘Where the hell am I?’ The Scout internally frowned, turning what felt like the 100th corner he had found, ‘There’s got to be a way out of here.’ If he was able to be dragged into the windowless torture house, then there was a way for him to leave the place.  


The smaller man didn’t want to stay idle too long or even dare turn back, hell even look back. It wasn’t necessary to be a master at life to know when somebody was following you, somebody who wanted you dead or worse.  


Then it hit him, literally. Colliding with his face a wall blocked his way forward, cold hard and umoving, “You’ve got to be kidding me, dead end?!” The Scout inhaled sharply as he gently touched his now aching nose, small drips of blood seeping out from his nostrils. The blow was enough to send a temur down his body. And just like that everything came crashing down.  


All the energy was leaving him, even the somehow not taken can of Bonk he had drank before bolting the hell out of that dungeon was not enough to keep his aching body going. The inflicted wounds were starting to catch up to him, his small frail body beginning to shake, his legs giving in to the sudden realisation of the weight, causing the Scout to collapse to the floor. He fell to the floor with a loud thunk, feeling the aching intensify as he collided to the ground, letting out a small high-pitched shriek.  


When footsteps began to echo in the air, the male could feel his heart sink into the deepest pits of his stomach, a nauseous feeling sweeping over him: they were really going to kill him now for running away. It wasn’t such a big deal that he was going to die, oh no, he would just respawn to the nearest spawn location--that wasn’t the problem. The real problem was the pain he would endure before respawning, as well as that empty feeling in limbo before respawning. Those few seconds before respawn were the worst, and he knew it wouldn’t be so quick with these people.  


“Awh crap, awh crap, awh crap,” The Scout nearly cried as he mumbled the words, hoping it would somehow keep him safe from the nearing steps, “This can’t be happenin’ this can’t be real.” He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping one arm around them, the other draped over his head. It had to be some cruel joke his teammates were playing on him, or perhaps the BLU team got a sick sense of humor and wanted to get back at him. As the tapping of footsteps came closer his heart skipped a beat, his body profusely sweating and shaking to the core.  


_Click. Clack. Click. Clack._ The RED tensed up burying his head into his chest. _Click_. The sounds began to slow down, disturbing the boy-sized man: _Clack_. His impending doom was either closing in or, lucky him, couldn’t find him. Click. Holding his breath he tried to quiet down his rapidly beating heart.  


_Clack_. Then silence. The Scout gulped, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He didn’t want to open them, he was afraid. Soon, his curiosity outgrew his fear, one eye cautiously and slowly opening. As he looked upon who was standing before him, both eyes shot wide open, “N-no w-w-way!” He choked out the words, starting on another sentence before a gloved finger touched his lips to stop him. A quiet shhh came from the other before the Soldier and Demoman from before walked up behind him, leaning down to the Scout’s height.  


“Ack,” The Demoman growled, not just in disgust towards the Scout but himself, “Boss got to ‘em…” The Soldier nodded to his teammate and took a step forward, “You won’t remember any of this. None of it for your sake.” The man leaning down at the Scout’s eye level smirked, removing his finger from his lips, “It can’t be you. I-I just saw you on the battlefield! Why the hell are you with these guys-” Before he had a chance to spill out a name, The long sword held by the Solider slit his thin throat, a sneer underneath his covered face, “Pathetic maggot,” he scoffed, “You almost gave away the surprise.”  


The mysterious man watched as the blood seeped from the open wound, then glanced towards the Soldier with a glare, “Oh…” The military man recoiled slightly, “Did I take your kill? I’m so so sorry if I did sir!” A few tense moments passed before the man closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh and shook his head.  


“We’ll dispose of the body well, boss,” The Demoman chimed in to break the tense silence, “Nobody will find it.” With a silent nod the man got onto his feet, gave them one last glance before passing them by down the hallway, his footsteps clacking on the hard concrete ground until the echoes became inaudible.  


“I thought ‘e was going to kill ye for sure,” The Demoman chuckled as he reached down, grabbing the wrapped up hand, “You don’t ever take the boss’s kill mate.” He slung the corpse over his shoulder, turning to his partner, “You got off lucky.” Soldier sighed and rolled his eyes, “Well I’ll probably feel it afterwards if he’s still in the mood.” Chuckling the two of them turned around facing opposite of the dead end, “Let’s get this body ta Pyro, drain the blood and burn the evidence.”  


“Oh ho,” Soldier grinned, beginning to head down the narrow hallway, “She’ll love that, and so will we! Let’s get the prizes from our claimed corpse!”


End file.
